


Safe Haven

by nimrod262



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: AU, Ficlet, M/M, Nautical Themes, Nivanfield, Poetry, Post RE6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 16:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18370130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrod262/pseuds/nimrod262
Summary: Piers is inspired by his Muse to write some poetry. His 'Muse' however, gets all hot and sweaty . . . and competitive!A birthday gift to C. of RedfieldandNivans fame.





	Safe Haven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedfieldandNivans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedfieldandNivans/gifts).



> Like Piers, the idea for this poem came to me in that drowsy state between sleep and waking. Originally it was simply the poem, but as I jiggled the words and phrases, I decided it needed a context. Cue Chris, his humour, and his competitive spirit!

When Chris says to Piers, "Hold me", it is understood that he is in need of reassurance; seeking a means of allaying his worst fears, of escaping the demons that still haunt him. Piers soon came to realize that it was best to accept such requests without seeking too much by way of an explanation. Sometimes Chris would eventually choose to tell him, if, or when, he felt ready. And if not, Piers would meticulously piece the clues together and file them away for future reference.

Which is not to say, of course, that Piers didn't realize he had his own demons too. However, being Piers Nivans, he kept them rigidly under control, exercising a cast-iron will lest they became apparent to anyone, including Chris. Piers' self-appointed task was to look after his Captain at any cost, including his own. Not the other way round. But still, there had to be a release mechanism, a safety-valve, even for the icy-calm sniper. Part of it was to be found in the physicality of their love-making, part in the satisfaction of seeing his partner happy. But a large part lay in the pure joy and simplicity of just being close to Chris. Soaking up his body-heat, breathing in his scent. And at no time more so than the moments when they would lie in each-other's arms, half-asleep, half-awake, drowsy with love. Then, with Chris' senses dulled, Piers might secretly admit to his darkest thoughts, secure in the knowledge that he was in the safest place possible to do so - in his Captain's embrace.

Piers also realized that all his fears were linked by one thing, and one thing alone. The loss, or absence, of Chris. He had experienced plenty of heart-stopping moments on the battlefield, where Chris had behaved recklessly, or had survived a narrow escape. But that was all part of the 'buzz' of combat, the adrenalin rush that came with being Chris' right-hand, his No.2 on Alpha Team. Piers had never done drugs, not in his line of work. Even so, he knew he was a junkie. And his dependency was Chris Redfield.

When they lay together, as they were now, Piers would anchor himself to Chris' chest. Specifically Chris' large pectoral muscles, which rose majestically like twin cliffs above rolling waves of coruscated abdominals. Piers would wedge the thumb of his left hand in the deep cleft that separated the two. And whilst his fingers would cling to the right pectoral, his face would press tight against the left; listening to the reassuring 'boom' of Chris' heartbeat, echoing the rhythm of surf crashing upon a rocky shore. This position also had an additional advantage in that it allowed Piers to place his right arm beneath Chris; so that the tracery of white veins that covered it were hidden from view. For out of sight was out of mind. Months after the event, Piers himself remained ambivalent about his right arm. So much a part of him, yet so much a part of something else that even now, he didn't fully understand. Like a party host faced with an unwanted guest. This was one of his darkest thoughts, that and the six months Chris had been lost to him in Edonia. And then followed Lanshiang, and Haos. The use of the virus and his heartbreaking farewell to Chris, his love still unspoken. And finally there had been the water. The cold, dark, deep water.

One of the things that had gotten Piers through Edonia was the smell of Chris' cologne. When he was particularly stressed, Piers would carefully apply some of the precious liquid to his pillow, his 'Chris', which he would hold on to through the night for comfort and, sometimes, more. So in the here and now, that smell remained crucial to Piers' wellbeing That heady tang of citrus and musk, like ozone and salt-spray! Piers would sometimes ask Chris to spray his chest with cologne before they got into bed. It reminded him of those times in Edonia, when that scent had been a very physical link to his missing Captain. Piers saw nothing strange in it. Some people put lavender oil on their pillows to help them sleep. Piers simply put Kenneth Cole's Reaction on his partner's pectorals to help him rest.

Chris also understood it perfectly. He'd read Piers' diary from Edonia after all. But it didn't stop him teasing all the same.

"Weird Californian kid."

To which Piers would answer in mock annoyance. "Harumph, at least it masks the smell of bear."

"Ha! You can't get enough of my 'bare' smell!" Chris would reply; which always left Piers lost for a smart answer, because it was true.

Waves, cliffs, salt-tang; it all sounds rather nautical Piers thought idly as he lay contentedly on Chris' chest this particular morning. But the words jostled for prominence in his mind, and as they did, the thought gradually took shape. He would write a poem, about his 'pillow'. And it would have a maritime theme. Odd, given his dislike of water ever since China. Even now, he still shuddered at the memory. Whatever, there it was, as plain as day. Chris' chest was Piers' refuge. Somewhere safe and secure, warm and reassuring. His port in a storm. His safe haven. That was it! Now he had a title as well! Hazel eyes opened, gleaming in satisfaction. And in his mind's eye, the words were already lining up, assembling themselves into phrases and sentences. No sooner had he showered and grabbed a coffee, than he sat himself down at his desk. A sheaf of crisp white paper before of him, and his favorite pen in his left hand. Chris, now dressed in his BSAA running gear, skimpy green silkies, and a proud smile, was intrigued.

"What u doin there Ace?"

"Writing."

"I can see that! Writing what?"

"Er, just some poetry. The idea came to me this morning, just before we got up."

"Ooh, let me see!" Chris tried to peer over Piers' shoulder.

"No! I'm not ready Babe!" Piers pouted, then spread his hands out to hide the top sheet of paper.

"Grouch!"

"Sorry, but it's not finished yet. It might not work out."

"Nothing less than perfect for Mr Perfect, eh?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Well, I'm going for a run, it's a lovely morning. You coming?"

"No, I'd like to finish this first."

"More important than keeping fit?"

"Keeping fit mentally is just as important."

"Pah! I could write a poem whilst I was running."

"Go on then. You can show me yours later."

"Only if you show me yours first . . . er, and your poem. Ha!"

Piers rolled his eyes. "Why does everything have to be about sex with you?"

"I don't know, is this a quiz? Why does sex with you have to be about anything? Sex is sex."

"Go!"

"Yes, Oh Master."

"And make sure you come back all hot and sweaty."

"See! You can't get enough and you know it. Enjoy your iambic pentameter then Ace . . ." Chris kissed his partner on the cheek, trying to steal another peek at the work in progress. ". . . Byee."

It was only after he'd had gone that Piers realized what Chris had said. "How does a bear get to know about metric lines . . ." Piers wondered out loud. He sighed, then shook his head. ". . . is this a quiz?"

Chris was gone for well over two hours, by which time Piers had marshaled the phrases and sentences into a satisfactory order. It wasn't perfect, that would have required several days of effort. But it had a naive simplicity . . . Chris would like it. He was screwing the cap carefully back on his fountain pen just as his partner returned, ruddy faced and perspiring.

Chris bent down and gave Piers another peck on the cheek. "You um, you finished?"

"Yes, and just in time!" Piers grabbed the sheets from the desk. "Careful Bear, you're dripping over everything!"

"You said to come back all hot and sweaty!"

Piers sniffed the air. "And you didn't disappoint."

"So are you ready Ace?"

"For Grrr and Woof?"

"No, not that! This poetry competition."

"What? Now?"

"Yeah, before I forget it."

"Before you forget . . .?"

"Well, I didn't have a comfy desk and coffee and stuff. It's not easy writing whilst you're running you know. The words all jiggle about. Just like everything else does." Chris looked down meaningfully at his shorts. "Ha, ha!"

Piers rolled his eyes. "Jiggle?"

"Yeah, in your head. I've got 'em straight at the moment, so I'll go first."

"Feel free." Piers waved a slender hand airily.

"Okay Ace. Here goes nothing."

"Comes!"

"Pardon?"

"It should be here _comes_ nothing."

"Oh, haw, haw! Very ironic! Just listen . . .

_Roses are red._  
_Violets are blue . . ."_

"Uh, derivative Bear, it's been done before . . ."

"Will you let me finish? It gets underivative."

"Go on then."

"Ahem!

_Roses are red._  
_Violets are blue._  
_You're good in bed._  
_And I love you."_

Chris stopped and grinned at him.

Piers waited. After a rather embarrassing silence, he asked slowly. "Um . . . is there . . . any more?"

"No, that's it." Chris beamed, obviously pleased with himself. "Clarity and brevity are key to good military writing."

"Well you got a 10/10 there Babe. It was, er, very clear, and breathtakingly brief."

"So you liked it?"

"No . . . " As Piers paused, Chris looked crestfallen. Piers couldn't stand to see the hurt in the brown eyes, so he quickly continued. "No . . . I loved it Babe. It was, it was . . ." he sought for a suitable superlative, and found inspiration looking at Chris' shorts. "It was outstanding."

"Ha! Thanks. Now you read yours, then we'll decide whose is best."

"It's not really a competition Chris."

"Of course it is. There's no point otherwise."

"Oh! Oo . . . kay then. I'd have tried harder if I'd known that. You've set the benchmark so high."

"Don't worry Ace, just give it your best shot. I don't mind if you're not good at everything, really."

"Christopher!"

"Yes?"

"Never mind . . . It's titled Safe Haven."

"Ooh, cool. I didn't give mine a title, just 'A Poem'."

"Yeah, er, cough . . . Safe Haven, by Piers Nivans . . . for Christopher Redfield . . ."

"Nice touch."

"Chris!"

"Sorry, sorry. Just psyching you."

Piers pouted. "Well don't!

_Safe Haven . . ._

_When my troubled thoughts,_  
_like rolling waves, do billow._  
_I rest my weary, aching head_  
_upon your calming pillow._

_No stars above to guide me,_  
_just your sweet smell alone._  
_A scented breeze blows o'er these seas,_  
_and leads me to my home._

_Deep waters tried to stop me._  
_Webbed fingers grasped my feet._  
_They ever sought to stay me,_  
_lest you and I should meet._

_For when we lie in sweet embrace,_  
_their hold is gone, all power is lost._  
_And I find peace by these sweet shores._  
_On towering cliffs, forged at such cost_

_You are my pillow, my safe haven,_  
_anchored 'neath a scented sky._  
_Waves fall not upon your shores,_  
_and dark waters leave us dry._

_So now my journey's over._  
_At last my ship's sailed home._  
_To Christopher, my savior._  
_No longer need I roam._

_For I am just a soldier,_  
_no ancient mariner I._  
_My feet would tread on solid ground,_  
_whilst yours have touched on high._

_The end."_

Chris clapped his hands. "Oh Piers! That was wonderful. How'd you manage to find the words to write such lovely things about us? Gah." he wiped his eyes and sniffled.

"Babe? Are you . . .?"

"No, no, just, er, wiping the sweat from my face, that's all."

Piers smiled. "Alright then, if you say so. They just came to me, whilst I was asleep."

"You do all that in your sleep!"

"Not all of it, just bits and pieces, like a framework."

"I see. And those troubled thoughts, do they come to you when you're asleep too?" Chris asked innocently.

"Ah, you noticed that." Piers reddened slightly. "Well, that was only, er, a bit of artistic license, you know, for dramatic effect."

"So you're not really troubled then Ace?"

"No."

"Oh, good. Cos if you were, you know, troubled, in any way, I'm always here for you. Your safe haven, just like you said."

"I simply like hugging you in bed, that's all. But thanks all the same Babe."

"Ha! Well, whatever your reason, it was lovely, much better than mine. You win Ace."

"No, let's call it a draw. Your poem expressed another very important aspect in our relationship."

"It did?"

"Absolutely, Grrrr and Woof."

"Oh, as in Grrrr . . ."

". . . and Woof." Piers opened his arms wide. "Come here Bear. Are you still hot?

As they embraced Chris whispered softly in Piers' ear. "Yeah, still hot . . . and still sweaty."

Piers buried his head against Chris' chest. "Just two words, yet they sum us up perfectly."

Chris nibbled Piers' ear. "Two little words, that must be the best poem ever . . . Grrrr!"

"Woof!"

 


End file.
